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Every Who down in Whoville thought “Christmas just rocks,”
but they knew of a naysayer — and it wrinkled their socks.

Up high in his home on the mountain alone,
the Grinch spent December with beliefs of his own.

No trees, if you please, for this bachelor-plus-dog.
No stockings, no carols, no Yuletime log.

No holiday cheer filled up his Grinch glasses,
which really hurt no one, but chapped the Whos’ asses.

“What even is a Grinch?” they sniped and they carped;
the hermit’s abstention cut right to their hearts.

“He’ll burn in hell,” they worried. “Never mind the economy!”
For spending and lending trump Grinches’ autonomy.

As the Whos all fretted the green nudist’s perversion,
they hit on a plan: a reverse-psych conversion.

“If he hates it enough, it’ll come round to love.
Being festive is easier, when push comes to shove.

“For Christmas is crafty,” the plotting Whos said.
“You can show it your back, but it crawls in your head.”

Their scheme was wily and guile-y and based on mind-hacks,
but they had an inside man in the dog named Max.

Confined in their cave on the mountain’s high spire,
the Grinch’s pooch threw gas on his Christmas-hate fire.

Planting the seeds took him more than a month,
but Max got the job done, and nothing rhymes with “month.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna dress up as Santa and steal all your stuff,” the furry traitor reported.
“Wait, what?! How does that help us?” the townspeople retorted.

“You were supposed to break him, but not into our houses,
where we keep our better kids — and all of our spouses!”

But Max just smiled, panted and chewed on his leg.
“You hired a dog to do therapy,” he cheerfully said.

And then he ran back up the hill like a shot
as the citizens of Whoville considered their lot.

“We’ll go with it,” said a wiser of their numbers.
“The spirit will grow, the more that he plunders.

“You watch, he’ll bring it all back before this is done,
and then merry Christmas — now stop crying, hun.

“And isn’t his soul worth more than our loot?
We’ll have our roast beast, and eat it to boot!”

So December 24th, the Whos lay in wait,
silently welcoming the wolf at the gate.

Most went to bed, though shaking with fear,
knowing they’d wake to parlors stripped clear.

But a cadre of watch-Whos formed a small band
to make sure that things didn’t get out of hand.

They hid in snowy shadows and out of the way,
though nothing prepared them for the Max-drawn sleigh.

“No, he did not,” they whispered as Santa Grinch rode into sight.
“He’s like 53,” they gaped. “This just isn’t right.”

The Grinch picked a house and up his ladder he puttered,
and then down the chimney as “Die, Christmas,” he muttered.

He bagged up the stockings, decorations and food,
as the Whos peered inside, thinking him quite rude.

The thief stuffed all the goods up the chimney,
then rubbed his hands greedily and turned toward the tree.

But while ganking the tree, the Grinch was interrupted
by little Cindy Lou, and the watch-Whos erupted.

“Shit!” they all cried in a mass of confusion.
“That insufferable brat will spoil our illusion!”

But the Grinch convinced Cindy he was a Santa who lingers;
it was dumb fooling dumber as the Whos watched through their fingers.

“Oh God, it’s pathetic! I can’t look away.
And St. Nick’s as Christmas-y as a fahoo foray.”

“Stop. You’ve been singing ‘fahoo forays’ this whole time?
That’s a bunch of nonsense — you’re just rhyming to rhyme!”

And so the Whos bickered on into the night
as the Grinchy-green Claus wrapped up their stuff tight,

wrapped up their pantookas, their bizilbigs and wums,
which are kinda like bizilbigs, but leave fewer crumbs.

From house to house he went, well past the sleigh’s load limit,
as the Whos looked on in horror, growing colder by the minute.

Dawn found them staring up Mount Crumpit, full of sadness and fright,
as, against all odds and gravity, Max hauled their things out of sight.

In slippers and robes, the rest joined them outside.
They passed around coffee, but morale was low-tide.

“My kids are gonna kill me,” a plaintive voice said.
“And some of those presents need to be fed.”

They sang carols to keep warm, joined by all those attending,
then a huge cheer went out, for the sledge was descending.

The Grinch rode into their midst and climbed atop his sleigh.
“I’ve learned a valuable lesson,” he started to say.

“Sure, fine, whatever,” the Whos sarcastically interjected.
“Let’s just go in and eat. This is soooo unexpected…”

All of the fragile gifts were ruined that year,
but the meaning of the season was never more clear.

Foisting Christmas on others can be made to work,
but it renders yours empty, and it makes you a jerk.

No one enjoys what everyone is forced to.
Well, maybe Max. But nobody named “Who.”

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